


fly high again

by icemachine



Category: Doom Patrol (TV)
Genre: Episode: s01e13 Flex Patrol, Gen, POV Second Person, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 00:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20898638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icemachine/pseuds/icemachine
Summary: I’m asking youto let nature bare its teeth for me, to extract yourself from that hole in my chest and find the skies for me. Do it for me. I was supposed to believe in saviors and thenI met you.But the sky isn’t right without him.





	fly high again

So what, he says, if there is an eternal wound in my chest that I think God made just for you? A hole to crawl into, above the house of my stomach and the brittle foundation of my body, in the shape of bones, in the desecrated form of a skeleton

that only knows how to fear, and incite fear in others, like a big blockbuster movie where everyone dies and the credits roll over a picture of my lifeless face

hidden behind a rope. It is a place for you to operate the life that each version of this body has lived. So what, he says, if I have been here for sixty years,

holding onto the hatred until my knuckles paled

in a way that I didn’t think was possible,

and

the love that I used to dance with over the dangers of cockpit escapes and endless truck beds and

in the dream that we all have of a world where prejudice burns like my body but into an ash that stays an ash

was the love that I embraced until my knuckles paled in a way that I knew was possible

since the day that I met him. So  _ what,  _ he says, if the place inside of me that God made for you

is an unbearable one, and the Atlas world of lies my body is holding up crumbles with the gesture of your pulsing frame of energy looking at me like something to pity. I’m not something to pity, he says, I’m something

to fear, or to despise, or to shed. I know you want to shed me, but we aren’t animals, we’re more like lost monarch butterflies

that know they’ll die before they reach home. And that’s okay, I haven’t asked you for anything else. I haven’t asked you for anything, he says, but I’m asking you now, I’m asking you

to let me go, and I can be the butterfly, and I can be the concept of endings, and I can find my freedom

in closed eyes and hands gripping chests, just like our bodies when I was a man who loved and you were the lights in the sky that we gazed at with our hands gripping our chests. I’m asking you to let me go, I’m asking you

to let nature bare its teeth for me, to extract yourself from that hole in my chest and find the skies for me. Do it for me. I was supposed to believe in saviors and then

I met you. 

But the sky isn’t right without him. Maybe you can feel the night against you and the night feels eyelid-heavy and maybe you can see the future in your whitened eyes and the future looks like blood on bandages and bandages on carpets and carpets in body-shaped excavates. You know the sky isn’t right without him, you know other dimensions and you know what fire looks like when it is warped by the violent tides of a mind. You know how to scream without anyone hearing you, you know what pain feels like

buried in the cerebral graveyard where memories go to live forever, you know every truth but

there is no truth as enlightening as the place you made inside of his body.

So here you are going back, and here you are choosing the man who skins himself every day just to make the world regret him, and here you are

taking the knife away and telling him that the world would embrace him if he found a way to rest, to give himself the freedom he wanted to give you. Here you are, and here is the sky, and here is

his body. You know what you have to do. We all know what we have to do.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i don't know what this is i just was thinking about larry and poetry and this happened


End file.
